The Ivory Rose (9 page)

‘He?’ asked Jemma, her heart falling. ‘Oh. Merlin.’

She sighed.

‘He looks exactly like another cat I know,’ Jemma explained, putting Merlin down on the ground. ‘But her name is Shadow.’

Merlin prowled over towards Ned, who stooped to chuck the cat under the chin.

‘Well, if she comes from around here, they are probably related,’ suggested Ned. ‘I would say old Merlin has fathered dozens o’ kittens. Half a dozen of his progeny live up the corner at the Abbey – the ol’ housekeeper feeds them, and quoite a few of them are black as magic, just loike Merlin. He lives with me in the stables and his job is to keep the rats out o’ the horse grain and keep me company.’

Jemma nodded and stooped to pick up the buckets. Ned nimbly stepped over the vegetable garden fence with his long legs and took the buckets from her.

‘It made ye sad, did it, to remember the cat called Shadow?’ Ned asked gently, strolling beside her, his arm just a few centimetres from hers. ‘Did it remind ye o’ home?’

Jemma nodded, too choked up to reply.

‘Well, at least ye are remembering something,’ Ned encouraged her, tossing the ash from the buckets one by one onto the compost pile. ‘Ye’r memory should come roight back soon, and then ye can go home. Let me know if I can do anything at all to help ye?’

He handed her the two empty buckets with a smile that lit up his cat-green eyes and took up his hoe again.

Ned is so kind
, thought Jemma.
But there is nothing he can do to help me get home.

At Miss Rutherford’s insistence, Doctor Anderson came later in the morning to check on Georgiana, who seemed to
be perfectly well. After checking her over carefully, Doctor Anderson smiled and packed away his stethoscope.

‘Take care of yourself, Miss Georgiana,’ said Doctor Anderson. ‘I’ll talk to your aunt and suggest that perhaps you are up to a few little walks, now that you have Jemma to escort you.’

‘Would you?’ Georgiana begged. ‘That would be wonderful.’

‘And how are you feeling, Jemma?’ the doctor asked kindly. ‘Any more headaches?’

Jemma thought about how she felt – tired, aching in every muscle, scared and confused.

‘I’m fine, thanks, doctor,’ lied Jemma. It was easier than explaining.

Jemma showed him downstairs to the drawing room where Miss Rutherford was waiting for him by a polished grand piano.

Jemma did not return to the kitchen but loitered in the hallway so she could eavesdrop on the conversation. Jemma was determined to find out if there really was anything wrong with Georgiana.

The doctor spoke in a low, quiet voice so Jemma had to crouch close to the open door to hear him.

‘Georgiana seems better again today,’ explained Doctor Anderson. ‘Her blood pressure and heart rate are normal. I don’t understand what could have been causing the recurrent vomiting and headaches. At first I thought it might be food poisoning, but no-one else in the house seems to have been affected. Likewise, if it was a contagious infection, I would expect others in the house to be infected also.

‘Anyway, as she is so much better, I think it would do her good to get some fresh air and exercise. I suggest that your nursemaid takes Georgiana for a gentle half-hour walk in the park every day and gradually extends the exercise as she builds up her strength.’

‘Surely not, doctor,’ objected Miss Rutherford. ‘The poor child has been so sick. She might pick up another dreadful infection if she goes out walking amongst all those filthy street urchins. That is probably where she picked up the illness in the first place. Her former governess was very lax, taking her gallivanting all over Sydney.’

Jemma shuffled slightly, her leg going to sleep in its awkward, crouching position.

‘Children need exercise and fresh air, Miss Rutherford,’ Doctor Anderson replied gently. ‘I know you are very worried about Georgiana, but you may do more harm than good if you smother her too much.’

‘She’s all I have left, doctor,’ confided Miss Rutherford, her voice choking. ‘I couldn’t bear it if she was taken from me like my poor dear sister and her husband.’

The doctor responded with soothing noises. ‘You worry about her too much, Miss Rutherford. By the way, how are you sleeping?’

Miss Rutherford sighed. ‘Oh, the usual trouble, thank you doctor. I can’t stop worrying about Georgiana and our finances and everything I have to do … My headaches have not been quite so bad this week.’

‘If the pain gets unbearable take a little laudanum to alleviate it, but be careful not to take it too frequently – it can have serious side effects.’

Jemma lost interest in the conversation and crept away before she was discovered eavesdropping.

In the late afternoon, Agnes, Connie and Jemma sat down at the kitchen table to drink a cup of tea and eat some bread and jam.

‘Now tonight, the mistress is going out to dine with the McKenzies, and it is my evening off,’ Agnes reminded Connie, cradling a teacup in her two large hands. ‘You two will need to look after Miss Georgiana – make her some gruel, make sure she takes her medicine and prepare her for bed. You can serve an evening meal for yourselves and Edward. I expect everything to be done before you go to bed. If it’s not, you’ll both feel my wrath in the morning.’

‘Of course, Agnes,’ Connie assured her, looking demurely down into her teacup. ‘Will you be stepping out with Mr Cooper, the butcher, tonight then?’

Agnes scowled, her lip quivering with injured dignity.

‘No, of course not … Not that it’s any of your concern. I’ll be visiting my … my … mother.’

‘Oh, what a shame,’ commiserated Connie. ‘And poor Mr Cooper did seem so terribly keen on you. I thought he might have proposed by now. He hasn’t started courting Sir Henry’s young housekeeper now, has he? I’ve heard she’s very attractive and only twenty-three.’

Agnes stood up and flounced towards the door, straightening her apron and her pride. Jemma and Connie exchanged a suppressed grin.

‘If you had been going out with Mr Cooper, I was going to offer to take over at six o’clock, so you could spend some time making yourself look beautiful, then escape earlier, but if you’re just visiting your mother, I guess there’s no need.’

Connie cleared away the empty teacups and carried them to the sink. Agnes turned around, looking somewhat mollified.

‘Well, that would be very kind of you, as long as Miss Rutherford doesn’t need me. Jemma, would you go and clear away Miss Rutherford’s tea tray. It’s time to get back to work.’

As the girls washed up the tea things, Connie whispered to Jemma, ‘Hurray! We get a night off without the two tyrants! What can we do?’

Jemma giggled at Connie’s infectious excitement.

‘Sleep!’ suggested Jemma, rubbing the aching small of her back. ‘Maybe have a bath?’

‘Better than that,’ insisted Connie. ‘Let’s have our own little party. While the old cats are away, the young mice should play!’

‘A party! Who would we invite?’

Connie pondered for a moment. ‘We can invite Ned and Merlin the cat.’

‘What about Georgiana?’ suggested Jemma.

‘Miss Georgiana is a problem,’ conceded Connie. ‘She might tell her aunt, which means we’d be in big trouble.’

‘No.’ Jemma couldn’t believe Georgiana would do any such thing. ‘Georgiana would love a party – she’s going out of her mind with boredom being stuck in her room. And I’m sure she doesn’t want to eat gruel.’

Connie thought carefully. ‘All right, you ask Miss Georgiana, and I’ll ask Ned. We can cook a special dinner and play cards. It will be fun.’

So the festivities were carefully planned and the guests invited. Ned had to drive Miss Rutherford to the church manse for dinner, with strict instructions to return at ten o’clock to pick her up. Agnes left out some eggs, bacon and stale bread for supper, then hurried off, wearing her best shawl and bonnet.

Her cheeks glowed and her face almost softened with the anticipation of a rare night off.

Connie checked that Agnes was really gone out the back gate before returning to the kitchen. She glared in disgust at the eggs and bacon on the table.

‘You’d think she’d leave us something decent to eat, like roast beef or mutton chops. How mean is that?’ Connie said.

Jemma rustled around in the icebox. She gave a victorious cry as she discovered butter, cream and cheese.

‘I have an idea,’ Jemma declared. ‘I’ll make a gourmet French omelette, with whatever herbs and vegetables I can rustle up from the garden.’

‘That sounds fancy,’ replied Connie, screwing up her nose doubtfully. ‘I don’t think I’d like Frenchy food.’

‘It will be delicious,’ Jemma assured her, seizing a basket and the gardening shears from a shelf in the scullery. She returned after a few minutes with snipped chives; thyme; a fat, green leek and some tiny, ripe tomatoes.

Merlin the cat seemed to know Agnes was gone, stalking into the kitchen after Jemma with a demanding yowl, begging for food. Jemma scratched Merlin under the chin and fed him some titbits of cheese.

Ned popped his head in through the scullery door, wearing his driving uniform, his top hat in his hands and a cheerful grin lighting his face. Like Merlin, he normally never came in if Agnes was in charge of the domain.

‘I am going to drive Miss Rutherford now,’ warned Ned. ‘I should be back in half an hour, by the toime I unhitch the horses.’

As soon as the front door closed behind Miss Rutherford, Jemma raced up the service stairs to call Georgiana down.

‘I thought she’d never go!’ complained Georgiana. ‘Look, I’ve found some chocolates that Mrs McKenzie brought me last week.’

The two girls clattered down the stairs. Connie had set the kitchen table with a jug of lavender from the garden, the second-best silver, linen napkins and pretty floral china. Georgiana arranged the chocolates on a bonbon dish in the centre.

‘The table looks beautiful,’ cried Georgiana. ‘
This
is going to be fun – and best of all, no gruel!’

‘That reminds me,’ replied Jemma, picking up the small glass vial of medicine on Georgiana’s supper tray and
tipping the contents down the sink. ‘Whoops – I spilled it. Sorry!’

Georgiana smiled in delight.

Jemma set Georgiana and Connie to work chopping bacon, leek and tomatoes, while she whisked eggs and cream together. Jemma completed all her preparations so that everything was ready to cook when Ned returned.

Ned came bearing gifts – two bottles of iced ginger ale. He opened one and poured them all a glass.

‘May ye have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night, and a smooth road all the way to ye’r door,’ toasted Ned, lifting his glass up to the girls. ‘Sláinte.’

‘Sláinte,’ the girls chorused before sipping. The drink was cold and bubbly, a refreshing mix of sweetness and spicy ginger.

Everyone chattered while Connie toasted the bread over the fire and Jemma fried up the bacon, leek and tomato with fresh herbs. Then she added the whisked egg mixture, crumbling in shavings of cheese and a few twists of the pepper grinder.

Connie fed Merlin scraps of bacon rind under the table, then he curled up to sleep in front of the fire.

Ned and Connie looked slightly askance as Jemma served up the creamy, slightly runny omelette on top of the warm toast.

‘Where did you learn fancy French cooking?’ asked Connie suspiciously.

‘It’s not really fancy. My dad taught me to make omelettes – we often have them for breakfast on the weekend.’ Jemma felt a pang in her heart as she thought
of her parents and home. She firmly pushed the thought away, not wanting to spoil the light-hearted atmosphere.

‘Aye, tis grand,’ Ned assured her between mouthfuls.

‘And no gruel or broth in sight!’ added Georgiana. ‘Heaven!’

After dinner, Ned and Georgiana cleared the table and washed up. Then they all sat down to play a boisterous round of cards, gambling with chocolates, with much laughter. Georgiana kept eating the bets and Connie seemed to have all the luck, winning time after time.

At last Jemma won a round.

‘ACB!’ she exclaimed, throwing her cards down triumphantly.

The others stared at her in surprise.

‘ACB?’ asked Georgiana, raising her eyebrows quizzically. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Oh … ummm – amazing comeback. You know when you’re losing and then suddenly you come from behind and win? It’s, well … an amazing comeback.’

The others giggled, shaking their heads at Jemma’s funny, strange ways.

Connie grabbed up the cards and shuffled them expertly, dealing out another hand.

‘Well, then it’s my turn for an ABC,’ predicted Connie.

‘ACB, not ABC!’ corrected Jemma, giggling. Connie’s prophecy proved to be correct, and she easily won the next round.

Ned threw his cards down on the table in despair, pushing away his last chocolate.

‘Well, tha’ tis me. Connie has had the divil’s very own luck tonight. I vote we have some cheery music and a little dancing.’

The four pushed through the kitchen door, into the front of the house, and gathered around the grand piano in the front drawing room. Georgiana pulled up the bench and began to play a lively Scottish ballad. The others soon joined in enthusiastically, singing the lyrics over her shoulder.

They were all out of tune and singing at different speeds, but they had fun.

Then Connie and Ned danced a jig, kicking up their heels and swinging each other gracefully around the room. Jemma clapped her hands in time to the music.

For the next song, Ned grabbed Jemma by the hand and pulled her into the centre of the room.

‘No, no Ned,’ Jemma protested, trying to push him away. ‘I can’t dance – at least not the way you do.’

‘Ah, Jemma, give it a try,’ begged Ned, bowing over her hand. ‘Tis not hard.’

Jemma felt clumsy and slow compared to Ned. Her feet couldn’t keep up with the music. She was used to slow, graceful ballet, or free-moving rock, not the fast tempo and intricate steps of an Irish jig. Jemma pulled away, laughing helplessly at her own clumsiness.

She preferred to watch Ned, his feet flying until they seemed to be a whirring blur, his arms aloft, a wide smile on his face. Connie took Jemma’s place, holding up her flowing skirts and petticoats, her face creased with concentration.

Then Ned pulled out his harmonica and played a jaunty tune while Georgiana and Connie danced. Jemma’s feet started tapping and, before she knew it, she was joining in the dance, making up her own steps, swishing her skirts
and humming the tune. Then Connie played the piano once more and Ned danced with Georgiana.

After several songs, the girls’ hair was slipping from their pins and tumbling down their backs. Their faces were flushed and shone with perspiration. Georgiana flung herself back on the sofa, breathless and hot.

‘Oh, that was simply the best fun I’ve had in ages! Ned, you play the harmonica so well.’

‘And ye, Miss Georgiana, play the piano beautifully.’

‘Isn’t it lovely how much fun you can have just playing music, singing and dancing?’ Jemma puffed. ‘I think I could dance all night.’

Georgiana wiped her brow, pushing the tendrils of hair away from her face. ‘What about you, Jemma? Can you play something?’

‘I used to play the piano for a while – not very well – but now I have flute lessons, and sometimes play the guitar with my friend Ru–… One of my friends.’

Georgiana jumped up. ‘My papa played the Spanish guitar,’ announced Georgiana, heading to the door. ‘His instrument is in his old study.’

‘No, Georgie,’ Jemma said. ‘I don’t play very well.’

Georgiana returned brandishing an old, well-loved guitar.

‘Come on, Jemma,’ urged Georgiana. ‘It’s your turn to play for us.’

Jemma flushed, shaking her head in embarrassment.

‘Please, Jemma,’ begged Georgiana with a winning smile. ‘I haven’t heard the guitar played since Papa died. I used to love it when he played for me.’

Jemma glanced around at Georgiana, Ned and Connie. They all joined together, urging her to play.

Reluctantly, she took the instrument and tested the strings, tightening the ivory pegs to tune them. She thought quickly through the repertoire of songs she had played with Ruby. One of their favourites was ‘Lost in the Moment’ by the young, up-and-coming Australian singer Daniel Lee Kendall.

She strummed the introduction, nodding her head to the familiar beat and tapping out the percussion on the body of the guitar with her fingertips. Immediately, she felt like she was back in Ruby’s bedroom, sitting on her bed, listening to the CD and singing the words at the top of their voices.

‘You were wearing your pretty white dress. You wore it with your pretty smile. I was trying to do my best to see you smile your pretty smile at me …’

Jemma’s voice wasn’t trained, but she sang with passion, losing herself in her memories and the catchy tune.

‘
Oh, I got lost in the moment and nearly told you all about how I … I think I’m falling … I think I’m falling … I think I’m falling … for you
…’

Jemma suddenly paused on the chorus and remembered her audience. Georgiana, Ned and Connie all stared at her with faintly puzzled looks. Jemma stopped and flushed red to the roots of her hair.

Of course. How stupid of me!
thought Jemma, biting her lip.
It doesn’t sound anything like nineteenth-century music. I should have played something classical, like Mozart or Beethoven, but I don’t know any classical guitar music.

‘That was just something my friend and I loved to play and sing,’ explained Jemma, putting the guitar down hurriedly. ‘You wouldn’t know it.’

‘No,’ replied Connie bluntly, shaking her head. ‘I’ve never heard any song like that.’

‘It was pretty,’ Georgiana added hurriedly. ‘But what does “falling for you” mean?’

Jemma flushed again, staring at her hands clenched in her lap. ‘Oh, you know … falling in love …’

‘Ye are a daft lass,’ teased Ned with a grin. ‘I have ne’er met anyone quite loike ye. A nursemaid who plays the flute and the guitar, and sings love songs and cooks fancy French omelettes.’

Georgiana and Connie laughed and nodded in agreement, but their smiles were friendly.

‘And your memory must be starting to come back,’ added Georgiana. ‘That’s an excellent sign.’

Ned picked up the harmonica and played another jaunty tune, recapturing the light-hearted mood of the evening. Jemma was grateful to have the attention taken away from her.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half hour and everyone glanced at it expectantly.

‘Well, tis half-past nine and the witching hour,’ decreed Ned. ‘I must be gone to hitch up the horses and fetch the fair princess from the ball.’

‘The ogre more like it,’ snorted Connie. ‘And I suppose Ogre Agnes will be home soon, too. It’s time for us all to turn back into pumpkins.’